


Bound by Roses

by Fluffypanda



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Artist Steve Rogers, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Curses, Dehumanization, M/M, Painting, Physical Abuse, Slavery, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-04-13 23:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14123070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffypanda/pseuds/Fluffypanda
Summary: Bound to the service of whoever calls themselves his master and treated as nothing more the beast he appears to be, Tony has resigned himself to living his life as a slave. A card game changes that.-----Steve wins the Beast in a card game and gets a bit more than he bargained for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the square N1 - Beauty and the Beast on my Fairy Tale Bingo card. It’s a very non-traditional retelling with many elements from the original stories (and the movie) turned on their head.
> 
> Thanks again to [erawebuilt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/erawebuilt/pseuds/erawebuilt) for the beta work!

His fur sticky with ale, Tony watched for any fallen scraps with keen eyes from where he sat under the table at his “master’s” feet. Ever since coming into the possession of this drunken lout of a master, the latest in a string of many, Tony had been subsisting on rations a creature half his size would starve on.

Like most nights, The Donkey’s Bottom, an irreverently named tavern in the filthiest corner of King’s Keep, was bustling with activity. Patrons lined the bar and tables, many of them drunk and only getting drunker. A few ate the food provided by the kitchen, rather unwisely, Tony thought, though he longed for the very same food. Half the tables were engaged in some form of gambling, with the players putting up what meager change and property they owned.

Even with his long ears pressed against his skull, Tony found the tavern much too loud. It didn’t help that his scum master kept shouting and sloshing his ale around every time he lost a hand, accidentally pouring a bit on Tony every time. He wasn’t particularly mindful of his feet either, when he threw his little tantrums, but thanks to that idiot’s orders, all Tony could do was curl tighter around himself and endure the haphazard kicks.

A bone--from a shank of mutton his nose told him--dropped to the floor and, growling, Tony snapped it up before the tavern keeper’s dogs could. Tony’s master laughed at the act of desperation, but the sting at this loss of dignity was nothing compared to the gnawing hunger in his belly.

“That’s an odd beast you have there, Harland,” one of his master’s fellow gamblers remarked as if noticing Tony for the first time. Tony ignored him in favor of trying to nibble the last scraps of mutton off his bone.

Another chipped in, “Why it looks neither like a cat nor goat nor rabbit, but some combination of all and God knows what else. Yet it lays at your feet as tame as a lamb.”

“Right you are,” Tony’s master boasted good-naturedly before he hauled Tony up by his collar. Struggling to breathe, Tony dropped his bone, which was quickly snatched up by a dog. “It’s of an unusual sort alright. It’s nearly as intelligent as a man with paws as nimble as hands.” He lifted Tony’s paw to show them the odd construction. “But it only appears tame. Without this collar” –he jerked the collar around to display the magical seal, carved in the shape of a rose– “it’d just as soon rip your face off.”

“Where’d he come from?”

“It used to belong to the king, it did. Probably got it from the Wilderlands or some like. Except now that His Majesty’s gone, no one at the castle had much use for it, neither did the merchant I bought it off of for that matter. Though it isn’t completely useless…”

Seeing that the table looked appropriately awed, he dropped Tony to the floor. “Fetch a pitcher of ale, Beast.”

Tony scrabbled to his feet, grabbing the empty pitcher from the table and dashing over to the bar before the pull of the collar forced the matter.  Harsh whispers echoed in Tony’s ears as he wove through the crowd.

“What manner of—”

“Look at those teeth!”

“It’s our good fortune that it’s collared, eh?”

“It’s filthy!”

“Harland always had a taste for—“

Finding an empty space, Tony balanced on his back paws in a half crouch and swiftly stood to reach the counter. A man nearby bolted out of his seat, raising his arm in a sudden flurry of movement. Tony froze in place, torn between staring him down with a defiant snarl and shrinking from the coming blow.

Yet none came.

In the space of a breath, the tensions eased between them and the man lowered his arm, studying Tony with a puzzled twist to his rosy-pink lips. He sat back at his seat, allowing Tony aside.

He was the sort of man young ladies would dream of sweeping them of their feet, with his golden hair and bright blue eyes that gleamed even in the dim light of the tavern. He sported a rather fetching outfit, a tightly fitted leather jerkin over a blue doublet that only served to accent his well-muscled physique. He didn’t really look like he belonged in this tavern, virtually untarnished in the part of town where silver turned black just from coming near it.

A prime target for pickpockets and swindlers, some would say, but he still had his purse and Tony didn’t think that was purely luck. He had something of a military bearing about him in the way he moved, which was more than enough to deter some cutthroats. As for the rest—well, that would take something more.

Tony carefully placed the pitcher on the counter. The barkeep scowled at him in a mixture of fear and disgust, but refilled the pitcher without complaint, knowing Tony’s master was one of their most frequent and open-handed patrons.

The rat bastard practically snatched the pitcher from Tony and ordered him back at his feet with a smack, sloshing a generous amount of ale into his mug before passing it on. Mugs filled, the gamblers resumed their game and played for some few minutes before Tony spied booted feet approaching.

“I was told that this would be a good table to try my luck. Perhaps you will allow me to join you for a few rounds?”

Tony peeked out from under the table to look at the newcomer. It was the soldier from the bar. He had a rather earnest expression on his face, like he wanted nothing more than to play cards with this group of scumbags.

Seeing an easy target and a chance to restore his fortunes, Tony’s master, of course, welcomed him to the table. Tony rather suspected it wouldn’t be as easy as his master might think, but didn’t particularly care to voice the opinion even if he’d been allowed to. More than a few people who could ill-afford it had been cheated out of their good money by Harland’s shoddy businesses.

Without much ado, the stranger took a seat and the cards were dealt. Tony let the proceedings fade into the background, choosing instead to picture his workshop, now growing dusty in his absence. It had always been a place where he could hide away from the world, a place to be himself rather than what others saw him as, even after it had turned into his prison.

Then, in between one hand and the next, a bit of jerky appeared in the stranger’s hand, held low so only Tony could see it. Tony let out a soft whine as the tantalizing scent of the jerky reached his nose. Only the sight of the stranger’s concerned frown made Tony realize it was for him.

Hating how low he’d sunk yet grateful all the same, Tony ate the snack straight from the stranger’s hand and licked the fingers with his sandpaper tongue in the hopes more would be forthcoming. All it earned was a friendly scratch in between his horns like he was nothing more than an animal. He settled back down at his master’s feet with a disappointed sigh.

“Well, I think it’s time I cut my losses. Thank you for playing with me, men,” the stranger said, pushing back his chair.

Tony’s master, apparently having seen a change in fortunes, was not eager to let this fish go. Not when it may yet earn him more gold to drink away. “Surely you aren’t finished yet, there is still quite a bit of coin in that purse of yours. Your luck may turn yet.”

The stranger didn’t stop. “Perhaps, but I’m not certain it is worth my while. I’d barely be leaving with more than I started with.”

“I don’t see why we can’t sweeten the pot a little, right, boys?” A general chorus of agreement came from around the table.

“I suppose I could play a little longer, for the right prize,” the stranger said with a considering hum. He paused as if in thought then asked, “Is that beast of yours in the pool?”

It had only been a small gesture of kindness, yet the stranger’s words held the familiar sting of betrayal. In the end, this man wanted nothing more than to use Tony for his own purposes, whatever they were.

Intense eyes stared down at Tony. He tried shifting further under the table, away from the stranger’s scrutiny, but the spell bade him to stay by his master’s feet as he was ordered.

The stain upon the human race that Tony unfortunately had to call his master jolted and looked down at where Tony rested by his feet, his mouth hanging open. He quickly shifted his expression to a smile. “Of course, of course!”

Tony listened attentively as the stranger returned to his seat and the players continued the game. Tony was sent to fetch another round of ale for the table at his master’s prompting. When he returned, Tony wasn’t shocked to notice that the stranger showed marked improvement in his fortunes, not enough to be suspicious, but enough that Tony was nearly certain he’d be going home with him that night, no matter how the cards were dealt.

Eventually, Tony’s prediction was proven true. Stunned silence followed by ungracious muttering, particularly from Tony’s master, told Tony exactly who would be taking home the winnings, Tony included.

Curling into a ball, Tony tried to will down rushing wave of anxiety that threatened to drown him. Once he’d have thought a new master was a new opportunity, but Tony had long given up on someone breaking the spell, it had been impossible from the start. He knew what Harland wanted from him, and though Tony loathed the man, he was hardly the worst of Tony’s masters. There was no way of knowing what use he’d be put to now.

“I guess you were right, my luck did turn after all.” The stranger’s voice contained a laugh.

“One more round. We can raise the stakes, double or nothing—” Tony’s master wheedled.

“No, I think I’ve had enough. I’ll just take my winnings and…” There was the clinking sound of coins being scrapped into a purse, then a pause. “The beast?”

Seething in anger, Harland dragged Tony out from under the table. “Here.”

“Now, I haven’t seen too many spelled slave collars, but I believe there has to be a transfer of ownership?”

Through gritted teeth: “Name?”

“Steven Grant Rogers.”

Grumbling under his breath, Tony’s, soon to be former, master pulled out a knife. “A drop of your blood. For the spell.”

Rogers ignored the knife with a leery glare in favor of pulling out his own and slicing the edge of his thumb. He showed the bleeding cut to Tony’s master.

“Here, on the seal.” His grip was so tight on Tony’s collar that it dug into the fur under his chin. “By the rights granted to me as master, I hereby relinquish complete ownership of this slave to Steven Grant Rogers. Do you accept?”

Smearing the blood across the seal, dying the rose embossed on the soft leather temporarily red, Roger’s took hold of Tony’s collar. “I do.”

Tony remained silent, despite the prick of the collar’s thorns around his neck growing ever more painful. Finally, scorching fire bloomed in Tony’s throat and the corresponding words pushed their way out of Tony’s mouth without his consent.

“From this day forward, through the best and worst of what is to come, I pledge thee my faith, as long as we both shall live.”

With each word the color drained from the rose, until only but a few petals at the heart of the rose were left red.  Like the shifting of the heavens, the world reoriented itself around this man, Tony’s new master.

 

            _Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle.  Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind.  But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away, but she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within._

_And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress.  The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart, and as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there._

_Ashamed of his monstrous form, the beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world.  The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his twenty-first year.  If he could learn to love another, and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken.  If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.  As the years passed, he fell into despair, and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a beast?_

-Disney’s Beauty and the Beast


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The struggle was real, but it's done.

A gentle breeze ruffled Steve’s hair as he crested the hill with the Beast at his heels—a balm after the stench of King’s Keep’s underbelly. There was an intensity in the Beast Steve had never witnessed before, a wary and fierce vulnerability expressed with every carefully calculated movement and unwavering gaze—a gaze that proclaimed him caged but untamed.

The Beast’s vow, torn from his throat by magic, echoed still in Steve’s ears, every resentful word of it. Even forced, such words were binding. His eyes fell to the Beast’s collar, where the seal had been carved into the leather in the shape of a rose—Peggy’s favorite. It burned, seeing the flower she had loved so much used so.

Simmering anger that had been brewing all night pooled in Steve’s fists, unchecked though his knuckles still stung from the brawl started after he introduced his fist to that drunken bastard’s face. The man barely had to open his mouth and Steve had done what he’d been aching to do since he laid eyes on the Beast.

A low rumble reached Steve’s ears as the Beast’s lips drew back in a snarl. The Beast crouched low to the ground with a wild look in his eyes, tail bristling in fear. 

Steve unclenched his fists, willing away the fury that burned within him. It was his constant companion, never fading completely, but he breathed in the night air until he no longer wished to punch something quite so fervently. 

Keeping a close eye on the Beast, Steve continue down the hill. The Beast remained wary, his tail curled around his leg as he watched Steve in return. He followed reluctantly, almost as if he were being pulled along.

Up ahead, the King’s Wood rose out of the darkness, looming over the homes that dotted the landscape outside it. It was forbidden to all but those rare few granted a permit by the King himself. Naturally, the permits went to the nobility, but Steve suspected that with the chaos at court they probably won’t be holding any hunts soon. The Beast would be safe there for now, with plenty of game to hunt.

Steve dropped down to one knee when they reached the edge of the forest. “Come here.”

The Beast crept over to him, his belly brushing the leaves that littered the ground. Suspicion glittered in his dark eyes, flashing with the light of the stars overhead. Even in the darkness Steve could see how wasted the Beast looked, his ribs peeking out of filthy fur.

Moving slowly, so as not to startle the Beast, Steve reached for the collar. The Beast allowed it, though his muscles tensed, ready to spring away at any second.

Steve ran his fingers over the smooth leather, searching for a buckle or catch of some kind. Frowning, he examined the collar again. He’d gone over the collar twice when he realized there was none. In fact, it was one solid strip, interrupted only by the seal, with no seams to be found.

One hand slipped down to his knife, pulling it from its sheath with a snick. The Beast reared back, wrenching the collar away from Steve’s hand as a roar tore from his throat.

“Quiet!” Steve hissed, trying to grab ahold again. The last thing he needed was someone coming to investigate.

The Beast ducked out of Steve’s reach and swiped at him, raking his claws down his arm. It was only a shallow cut, barely drawing blood, but it stung nonetheless.

“I’m not going to hurt you, you damn fool thing! Hold still!”

For a second, the Beast froze in a half-crouch, allowing Steve to dart forward and grab ahold of the collar once more. The Beast struggled to pull free, his movements stilted and weak, as if hindered by some unseen force—the collar, Steve realized.

He took advantage of the opportunity to haul the Beast over and pin him against his chest with one arm. The Beast stilled in Steve’s arms, but for a bare tremble.

Wanting to end it quickly, Steve raised his knife and brought it to the collar. The Beast’s eyes squeezed shut and a soft whine came from his throat. However, instead of slicing through the supple leather, the knife skidded off.

Once more, Steve raised his knife, intending to remove the collar from the Beast’s neck one way or another, but yet again his knife proved useless. The collar was as hard as iron under his blade.

Cursing, Steve released the Beast from his hold. The Beast slumped to the ground. Steve’s hands shook as he tucked his knife back into its sheath.  As the Beast’s master, he should have been able to free him, but the collar’s spell seemed to be preventing it. Even ordinary enchanted collars required intricate spell work only a few were able to accomplish. Whoever enchanted this collar had to be as skilled as the High Wizard himself, god rest his soul.

Why go through so much trouble to bind a beast to your will, only to pass him on?

Steve frowned. Something was wrong. The Beast had not moved since Steve let him loose, instead he lay shivering on the ground. Steve placed his hand on the Beast’s flank and the Beast jerked away, paws scrabbling at the ground. Then suddenly the Beast froze, muscles straining against nothing.  

Steve’s eyes blurred and something not quite there came into focus—thorny vines that coiled over the Beast’s body, not even allowing the Beast to breathe.

It was the collar. There was nothing else it could be. If Steve didn’t—

“Stop!” Steve said frantically, his hands hovering over the Beast. “I- I rescind all orders.”           

The Beast inhaled, sides heaving. His whole body quivered.

A soft and weary voice finally said, “Thank you kindly, Master.”

Steve stared, open mouthed. Despite the glimmer of intelligence Steve thought he saw in the Beast’s eyes, he hadn’t actually considered that the Beast could speak beyond whatever words were magicked out of his mouth.  

He finally said, “You don’t need to call me Master.”

“Whatever pleases you, Master,” the Beast said in a monotone and looked down. His breathing had evened out, and he had ceased shaking.

Steve’s hands clenched at his sides. He took a deep breath and released them. Of course the Beast wouldn’t trust him. The title made his skin crawl, but he’d deal with it later.

“We can’t stay here.” Steve stood and searched for any sign that someone heard them and came to investigate. When he set off, satisfied they remained undiscovered, the Beast followed easily behind him. “Do you have a home? A place you can go?”

He’d have to take the Beast home tonight, but perhaps tomorrow they could find the Beast’s home. He hoped he could manage that at least.

“My place is wherever you desire me.” The Beast still would not look at Steve. “I have nowhere else.”

There was time when Steve could have said something similar. All he had was his shield and Bucky. Now, he had neither.

“Do you have a name I can call you?” Steve asked as they stepped back out onto the muddy track of the main road.

The Beast finally looked up, eyes blazing. “Call me Beast, it is what I am.”

 

_It was ten the next morning before the merchant waked, and as he was going to rise he was astonished to see a good suit of clothes in the room of his own, which were quite spoiled; certainly, said he, this palace belongs to some kind fairy, who has seen and pitied my distress. He looked through a window, but instead of snow saw the most delightful arbors, interwoven with the beautifullest flowers that were ever beheld. He then returned to the great hall, where he had supped the night before, and found some chocolate ready made on a little table. "Thank you, good Madam Fairy," said he aloud, "for being so careful, as to provide me a breakfast; I am extremely obliged to you for all your favors."_

_The good man drank his chocolate, and then went to look for his horse, but passing through an arbor of roses he remembered Beauty's request to him, and gathered a branch on which were several; immediately he heard a great noise, and saw such a frightful Beast coming towards him, that he was ready to faint away._

_"You are very ungrateful," said the Beast to him, in a terrible voice; "I have saved your life by receiving you into my castle, and, in return, you steal my roses, which I value beyond any thing in the universe, but you shall die for it; I give you but a quarter of an hour to prepare yourself, and say your prayers."_

_The merchant fell on his knees, and lifted up both his hands, "My lord," said he, "I beseech you to forgive me, indeed I had no intention to offend in gathering a rose for one of my daughters, who desired me to bring her one."_

_"My name is not My Lord," replied the monster, "but Beast; I don't love compliments, not I. I like people to speak as they think; and so do not imagine, I am to be moved by any of your flattering speeches. But you say you have got daughters. I will forgive you, on condition that one of them come willingly, and suffer for you. Let me have no words, but go about your business, and swear that if your daughter refuse to die in your stead, you will return within three months."_

\- Beauty and the Beast, Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be longer, but this was such a good place to end it (and I was tired, so very tired.) The rest will have to go in the next chapter.
> 
> Comments will definitely help me finish writing the next chapter. You know, if anyone is interested in that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, this took a little longer than intended, sorry. I hope you like it?

A chorus of crickets trilled as they walked along the main road, Tony trailing in his master’s wake, despite his parched throat and road-weary feet. He forced his steps to slow, swaying a little as he did, dizzy with the awareness of his new master. In time, it would settle into something he could ignore, as it had with his previous masters, but in the here and now, he was inextricably drawn to his master, as a moth was to a flame.

Obeying was easy like this. In the face of the bright lure of his master’s will, the small kernel of anger Tony kept alive was almost too distant to matter. But with the binding so fresh, The collar demanded nothing less than complete submission. Even now, as he pushed the limits, he could feel the faint prick of thorns around his throat.

“It’s not much farther,” His master said gruffly, turning to glance back at Tony’s slow progress with a frown.

A prickle of shame at his master’s displeasure urged Tony to slink guiltily over to where his master awaited him, but he squashed the impulse, even as the collar tightened its hold. He was overcome with the suffocating memory of sharp, fiery pain, his will turned against him, but the collar did no worse. Every act of defiance cost him dearly, yet he knew that if he ceased to resist for even a moment, he’d be engulfed.

They continued on at a steady pace, crossing a bridge over a small stream. The water smelled temptingly bright and fresh. Tony paused on the bridge, which was hardly more than some planks laid over the stream, to lap at the water until he could hardly swallow around the collar’s punishment.

The cool water revived him some, but mostly served to remind him of the twisting hunger in his belly. The bit of jerky his master fed him had faded hours ago.

“We’re here.” His master’s voice came from a short distance ahead, in front of the modest house nestled beside the stream.

Climbing roses spilled up the side of the squat building and the low stone wall that surrounded it, perfuming the air with their sweet scent. His master pushed open a wooden gate and with a glance, gestured for Tony to follow him inside.

“This is my home. You can go anywhere here you like.” His master said, encompassing the whole property with a nod. Just like that, Tony felt the limits of his world shrink. “It’s not large, but it’s mine.”

Tony furtively surveyed his master’s home as he led Tony through a garden, little, carefully-weeded rows of herbs and vegetables, and to the entrance of the house itself. This was where he stopped.

“Wait here,” he said, looking Tony up and down with a frown, and dashed off inside.

Tony obeyed, sitting back on his haunches with his tail lashing. He had yet to see any form of correction for his earlier actions.

His master had been trying to cut the collar – in some misguided attempt to set Tony loose most likely—but he didn’t understand the myriad of spells that ensnared Tony, or he’d never have attempted such a boneheaded thing. Tony shuddered to think what might have happened if he had actually caused any real damage to the collar, however slim that possibility might have been.

Still, not only had he defied a direct order, he had harmed his master in doing so. Even if he did not wish to keep Tony, the affront would not pass without comment. He hated the urge to abase himself, apologize for his transgressions, and beg for any bit of reprieve. He couldn’t even blame the collar for it, not entirely.

Tony had already witnessed his master’s fury firsthand, when he had taken on Harland and half the tavern’s men at the lightest of jibes.

Military training meant his master knew the value of keeping those under his command in line, even if he didn’t intend to keep Tony for long. Undoubtedly, his master would not believe the collar’s punishment enough and would wish to reinforce the message with his own hands.

Tony had endured worse, even before the collar. He knew how to take a beating. Much like his masters, his father had just considered it another part of his wayward son’s education.

Shaking himself until the memory faded, Tony listened for his master’s return. Underneath the sounds of water rushing over stone and insects buzzing in the air around him, he could faintly detect activity within the house. He looked up to see that a column of smoke had begun to pour from the chimney, but there was no sign his master would return even after some time had passed. Perhaps he intended to leave Tony’s punishment until morning; it was well past the time any decent person would be abed.

Somewhere, an owl hooted mournfully, its cry carried by the breeze. The sky was scattered with stars, without anything to block them. Tony supposed it was no worse than any of the other places he had slept in the past months, better than Harland’s stone yard, closed away and filled with city filth. Tony flopped down in a patch of soft grass and scratched an itch beneath the collar with his hind leg. If he was going to be left until morning, he might as well get comfortable.

A dragonfly alighted on his nose, its iridescent wings quivering with barely restrained tension. It was beautiful. Tony held still, hardly even breathing. An itch tickled his nose, then Tony sneezed, and the dragonfly took flight in a flurry of wings. Tony snapped at it instinctively before settling back down with a faint sense of embarrassment. He watched it do a quick circuit of the garden before soaring out of sight. His gaze didn’t leave where it disappeared for some time.

Tony’s ears pricked up at the sound of approaching footsteps as his master appeared in the doorway, clutching something. Tony bolted up to sit at attention. He’d been foolish to so quickly assume his master’s intent. Hadn’t he learned anything? He should have never let his guard down.

His master didn’t move, other than to shift uneasily. He opened his mouth then closed it.

“I got soap,” he said at last, looking down at the bar in his hands. “We should, uh, get you cleaned up.”

A curl of shame stirred in Tony’s belly as he was reminded how filthy he was. Gritty road dust coated him and most of his fur stuck together in clumps thanks to the spilled ale from earlier that night. What was worse was that he had reached to the point of hardly noticing it.

Still, he didn’t relish the idea of submitting to a bath.

But Tony didn’t get a choice. His master could do whatever he pleased, could order Tony to do as he pleased.

Leading them over to the well, Tony’s master put down the soap to haul up a bucket of water. Ears flicked back in annoyance, Tony eyed the soap warily and sniffed it, taking in the grassy scent. Soapwort.

“Hold still,” his master said, lifting the bucket. Without further ado, his master sluiced the water over him.

The cold was a shock. Tony dug his claws in the ground, willing himself still, the collar helping him along. Then, his master’s hands were there, gently scrubbing Tony’s fur with soap.

Tony’s throat constricted in a way that had nothing to do with the collar. Not even the little voice reminding Tony how pathetic he was could stop him from leaning into his master’s touch. His master hummed as he combed out the mats and tangles in Tony’s fur with his fingers, taking care not to tug too hard.

Tony hated him for it.

He hated him for preying on Tony’s weakness, for acting like he cared.

His master continued to work him until every inch of Tony was soaped up. Satisfied, he doused Tony with the other half of the bucket of water until all the filth and soap was washed away.

“There, all clean.” His master stood, shaking the water from his hands before heading back to the house.

Tony shivered under his sodden fur, dreading the hours to come. The night was mild enough, but the cold water leeched away any warmth to be had.

His master stopped in the doorway, looking back at Tony expectantly. Taking a chance, Tony followed him inside. The scent of the mint, crushed beneath the soles of his master’s boots, filled the air, intertwining with the wood smoke. Under his master’s watch, he explored the cozy home. His eyes making out details in the gloom that no human would be able to see: an ice box with a fading enchantment, a sword hanging above the hearth, charcoal sketches pinned to the walls. However, when he came to a set of stairs leading up to the second floor, his master stepped in front of him.

“You can warm up by the fire if you like,” he said, nodding over to the blaze. A mat had been laid out in front of it.

Tony warily slinked over to the hearth and began grooming himself. He listened to his master’s movements with one ear. He wasn’t sure what game this man was playing, what he intended to do with him.

He got lost in his thoughts and the rhythm of grooming. He didn’t notice the lapse in his attention until he jerked back from a bowl offered to him.

“You must be hungry,” his master said, placing it on the floor in front of him.

Tony sniffed it cautiously, it smelled of naught but grain.

What would be the price of a full belly? And what would be the price of refusing it? He knew he’d be expected to return the debt. You feed a slave so they can work. He dreaded what he’d be ordered to do, but his traitorous stomach gurgled.

“Thank you, master.” He took up the spoon. He was long used to accepting what his masters gave him. A slave was always hungry.

He shoveled the gruel into his mouth, without a care for manners. He could hear his mother tutting over his behavior, all those tutors gone to waste. The food was good and hardy, if a little bland, and Tony’s stomach was quickly filled. He licked the bowl clean for good measure.

Tony’s master gracefully bent down to take the empty bowl from Tony’s paws. “Good night, Beast.”

The way his master looked at him in that moment was something Tony couldn’t parse. It was almost fond. Could he be – no, Tony wasn’t so naïve to believe a foolish idea like that anymore.

Tony watched his master tuck himself away into bed. Once Tony might have called him kind, he’d learned since that a master’s kindness, like true love, was nothing more than a fairytale.

 

_ “Nettchen was very frightened, but she soon collected herself. Inside the strange, beautiful castle she was received with honor, although with silent gestures, and she no longer felt concerned. Silent servants brought her the most delicious things to eat and showed her to a bedroom, where a blinding white canopy bed invited her to rest. After saying her prayers, she surrendered to the arms of sleep.” _

\-           Ludwig Bechstein, Little Broomstick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I love hearing what you think and any theories you have, it really helps keep me motivated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I didn't mean to go this long without updating. Other deadlines, health problems, and rewrites kept pushing this back. 
> 
> Thank you to [Espresso-Patronum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BucketRogers/pseuds/Espresso-Patronum),[ riseupwiseupeyesup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseupwiseupeyesup/pseuds/riseupwiseupeyesup), and [Jf4m](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jf4m) for cheer-reading for me! And of course a huge thanks to [erawebuilt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/erawebuilt/pseuds/erawebuilt) for the beta work and bugging me for an update!

Steve gasped awake at the rooster’s first crow. He had dreamt deeply during the night of something that left his heart aching, though he could not say what (not an unfamiliar feeling). He looked to the empty space beside him, left for someone long gone, and shoved down his exhaustion.

He swung his legs over the side of his bed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Beast?”

The farm’s song--the soft clucking of chickens, the pig’s sleepy grunts, the wind in the trees, and hundreds of other small sounds in concert—was his only answer. A glance to the hearth confirmed that the Beast was gone, but something told him the Beast had not wandered far. Steve knew enough to be certain the collar would not allow it.

Apprehension pulled at him as Steve contemplated the quagmire he had wandered into. His plans had extended as far as obtaining the Beast and releasing him into the wood. Now that the second part proved impossible, he needed to regroup.

The obvious next step would be to consult someone with magic, but it’d be some months before Wanda’s caravan came to winter in King’s Keep. He could consult with a member of the High Wizard’s coterie, though they were likely to charge exorbitant prices for any sort of consultation. That was gold out of his pocket that he didn’t have.

He could ask around for more people like Wanda, but magic practitioners outside the guilds were few and far between. The only one Steve knew of was a prince of a kingdom across the sea, and his reputation was divisive to say the least.

It seemed for the time being Steve would have to make his peace with sheltering the Beast.

Rising from bed, he raked the fading embers of the fire together until they were lively enough to spark the protective spell on the grate. He fed the fire kindling and logs, only stopping once the fire was roaring. After a few hours, he’d have a decent bed of coals to start a batch of pottage for later in the day.

He cut two thick slices of bread to break his and the Beast’s fasts. Then, after a moment of deliberation, he also cut down a portion of ham from his dwindling supply over the fireplace. He brought the meals out with him as he went to pull water from the well.

“Beast! I have breakfast for you!” he called, placing the slices of bread on the well wall and hauling the bucket up.

A faint creak alerted Steve to the Beast emerging from the empty stable, moving one hesitant step at a time. His ears swiveled as he scented the air, but he kept his eyes on Steve. Finally, he crouched on the other side of the well from Steve, coming no further.

“I hope you rested well. If you prefer the stable, I can make up a bed for you in there. You may be staying here a while.” Steve tried not to falter under the Beast’s disquieting stare, full of animal intensity, yet strangely human.

Steve finished pulling up the water and took a sip with the ladle that hung from the bucket. The water, cold and mineral bright, soothed his parched throat.

When it became clear that no response was forthcoming, Steve continued, “You should eat. Have a drink as well. The water is clean enough.”

The Beast’s health seemed much improved now that he was clean and dry, though he was still frighteningly thin. In full sunlight, Steve could not see that his fur was more of a rich brown than the black Steve had initially thought and had a slight curl to it. Ears folded back, the Beast eyed the food with what Steve could only call a suspicious glare.

He’d been wary when Steve tried to feed him the night before as well. What had the Beast’s previous masters been like that he was so mistrustful of basic decency? It was men like that that drove Steve to join the Guard and ultimately why he left it; they were everywhere in King’s Keep. Steve’s teeth clenched at the tight knot of anger in his chest.

In the space of a breath, the Beast was gone from sight, leaving the food untouched. Steve forced himself to relax. This was the second time he frightened the Beast with his temper. He needed to get it under control if he was ever going to earn his trust.

He ate his breakfast, leaving the bread topped with the ham behind for the Beast, and began his morning chores, scattering feed for the chickens and letting the pig out to forage. There were always plenty of things to do.

Every once in a while, Steve would catch movement out of the corner of his eye, a shape darting around corners and through grass. To all appearances, there was nothing there, but Steve didn’t think he imagined being watched. He finished weeding the garden and stretched his sore back, glancing back at the well as he did so. The food was still there.

Steve sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. It seemed likely that the Beast would not come out while he was around, but he didn’t dare leave the Beast alone – inside it was.

“I will be upstairs. Shout if you need me,” he called to the Beast.

Lingering in the doorway, Steve couldn’t resist a glance back, but he was unable to see whether the Beast had emerged from wherever he had hidden or not. Finally, he retreated upstairs to his studio, closed the door behind him, and slumped back against it, pressing his hands to his eyes with a groan.

“What am I doing?” he muttered and peeked from between his fingers at the incomplete painting resting on the easel.

Peggy stared back at him, haloed in undefined brown curls. Her rose-red lips curled into a sad smile, as it had often been in those last weeks they had together.

She’d know what to do.

Eventually, Steve stood up. If he was hiding up here, he might as well make something.

He opened his supply chest, sending up a plume of dust. It covered everything in his studio, despite his best, if infrequent, efforts to keep it tidy. The chest contained only a handful of charcoal sticks and a few sheets of paper stuck at the bottom.

Turning to the easel, Steve paused. If he was going to use it, Peggy’s painting should be stored first. It should be easy; he no longer even had the paints to finish it. He reached out, his fingers brushing along the edge of her hair, taking in the texture. It was nothing like the real thing, this Peggy was just paint after all, but if he concentrated, he could still feel her locks tangled in his fingers. His throat seized up, and he pulled back, leaving the painting where it stood.

He got out a drawing board and pinned his paper to that instead. Charcoal in hand, he sketched out the beast as he saw him in the tavern. At first his hands were stiff, but soon the charcoal danced across the page as Steve pictured the way the Beast’s long ears sat against his skull, the flare of that small, triangular nose, and how his tail curled around his feet. He gazed out of the drawing with expressive eyes.

Steve added a few more sketches to the first one, the Beast mid-snarl, another of him wrapped in the collar’s vines. He should be used to the thoughtless cruelty those with the least bit of power indulged in, but these moments were burned into his memory and poured out of him in angry strokes.

“Hallo! Steve?” Steve startled at the voice calling from outside, snapping his charcoal. “We’re here with your bread!”

Had it really gotten to be so late? May and Peter didn’t normally come until midmorning at the earliest. Letting the tension ease from his shoulders, Steve dropped the two halves of his charcoal back in the chest.

He pushed open the window to see that they had pulled up to his gate in a cart pulled by that stubborn old hinny of theirs. The cart was nearly empty, just a few sacks of bread and May’s basket of sewing work she did for some of the people in town. 

He shouted, “Thank you, May. I’ll be right down to bring it in!”

Turning away, Steve wiped his hands and rushed down stairs to meet May and Peter. Steve glanced at the well as he passed. The food was no longer where Steve had left it, but the Beast was nowhere in sight.

Somewhat relieved, he ran the rest of the way over to the gate. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Hiya, Steve!” Peter hopped down from the cart with a loaf bigger than his head to present to Steve.

With a wide grin, Steve picked up Peter, bread and all, and lifted him high in the air. It was easy, the boy was too light to present much of a challenge. He squealed with delight before Steve placed him back on the ground.

“Oh, it’s no trouble, dear,” May said over Peter’s laughter. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen you up in your studio. I hate to pull you away, you were always so talented.”

“I was just doing some sketches.” Steve’s cheeks burned. He cleared his throat. “I might not be able to make it over to your place today, or perhaps even tomorrow. Something came up.”

May sighed. “Steve…”

“What’s that?” Peter peered over the stone wall into Steve’s yard.

Steve looked back to see the Beast skulking around the house, the tip of his tail quickly disappearing around a corner, but not before May gasped in fright.

“We must call the woodsman—” She quavered, looking ready to faint.

“No, there is no need.” Steve jumped in front of May, ready with a steadying hand. “That is merely the Beast--my beast, rather.”

“Your beast?” she asked weakly. Some color was starting to return to her face.

Steve nodded, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “I won him last night in a game of cards. He cannot hurt you and will only be here for a short while. He’s quite intelligent, but rather wary of people. I can’t say I blame him, his previous master was none too gentle with him and nearly starved him besides.”

“The poor dear.” May covered her mouth.

Peter jumped up to get Steve’s attention. “A beast? What kind?”

“I’m not sure. I have never seen his like, though I have heard tell of all sorts of strange creatures in far off lands, even some that speak as he does.”

Peter’s eyes grew wide at that and he didn’t waste any time looking for the Beast. Steve hoped the Beast wouldn’t be too bothered by the boy’s attempts at gawking.

“Well, I hope he knows he’s in good hands,” May said, casting a look over to where the Beast disappeared. “And Steve?”

Steve looked up, meeting her eyes. Her face was set with determination.

“…don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to have your help; it’s hard getting by with just me and Peter – and you know I wouldn’t dream of remarrying, no matter what those old biddies down the way think, Ben was the only one for me—but don’t you worry about us, you need more in your life than working our fields and taking care of this lonely old cottage. Maybe you aren’t ready to find someone new just yet, but you aren’t doing yourself any favors pretending you’re satisfied with this life.”

Hoof beats rang out from over the hill and everyone turned to look up the road. It was a knight, outfitted in chainmail and leather with a simple shield strapped to his saddle. Steve quickly recognized the emblem upon the shield and the man who bore it.

May drew her gaze from the approaching rider as he crossed the bridge over the stream, back to Steve. She must have seen his recognition, because she simply patted his hand before calling to her nephew. Peter dropped down from where he scaled the wall in an attempt to catch sight of the Beast again and bounded over to her.

Steve helped Peter back on to the cart and bid him and his aunt farewell. “Thank you, May. Just call me when you’re ready to bring that harvest in.”

“Hail and well met!” Sam said, easing his horse to a stop just as May finished pulling away.

He hadn’t changed much since his last visit, perhaps looking a little more worn down, but it was to be expected given all that had happened in the intervening months. All of the king’s knights were probably stretched thin at this point. Steve wasn’t sure how he could possibly found the time to visit.

Sam dismounted and drew Steve into a hug. “It’s good to see you, Steve.”

“Hail and well met.” Steve pulled up a smile for him. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Steve gathered up his bread and led Sam through the gate. They left the horse in the yard to graze and headed inside. He settled Sam at the table with a mug of ale before sitting down across from him.

Sam lifted his mug halfway to his face then paused. “I always forget how quiet it is out here—nothing like the Guard’s barracks. Never moment of peace around there.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve said, a smile plastered on his face.

Sam raised his eyebrows at him. “You’re missed, you know. It would make a lot of people would be happy if you came out of retirement.”

“I think half the Guard would stab me on sight if they found out I was coming back.” Steve chucked wryly at that, but his smile soon slipped away. “Bucky would laugh at me for letting bastards like them chase me out.”

“You were starting a life here. Bucky would have wanted you to be happy.”

“You can see how well that turned out.” The words slipped out before he could even think about them. Steve shifted in his chair, quickly changing the subject. “How’s life as a knight? Finally getting some respect?”

Sam snorted and shook his head. Steve glanced up and spotted a shadow cast at the window over Sam’s shoulder. So that was where the Beast was hiding.

“Not hardly. The High Wizard’s son came to court and he’s raising a ruckus, thinks we didn’t look close enough into his father’s death,” he grumbled into his ale. “As if we didn’t already have our hands full tracking down the king.”

Steve frowned. “You really think he’s out there? It’s been months.”

“Most of the nobles at court seem more concerned with missing hunting season than finding the king, but the commander doesn’t seem ready to give it up. He’s getting desperate now. Word finally reached the king’s cousin on whatever isle he was pleasuring himself, and he is on his way to claim the throne.” Sam shrugged, but he gave Steve a significant look.

Steve had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t a social visit. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You want me to help.”

Sam nodded. “I hate to ask it of you, but no one knows the Western Mountains quite like you do.”

Sucking a breath in, Steve hid his hands under the table. “The Western Mountains? You really think he’s all the way out there?”

The Western Mountains’ icy range framed the edge of the kingdom, protecting them from invasion. Only a few of the passes were safe to cross, though the ones that were saw more than their fair share of traffic – and bandits, thanks to the ruling nobles being more than willing to turn a blind eye as long as they got a cut. The Guard had an outpost there, but assignment there was in effect punishment for all that it was called a promotion.

“We don’t have damn clue where he is, but with all the grudges he stirred up out there, it seems like as good as any place to look. You in?”

“I—” Steve swallowed his words and looked down at his clasped hands. The bruises on his knuckles from the night before had begun to turn blue.

For all that happened out there, he couldn’t deny the offer was tempting. For a long time, a certain kind of restlessness had been eating him from the inside out. It’s what drove him to King’s Keep’s darkest corners and the seedy tavern where he found the Beast in the first place.

Steve took a deep breath—and was interrupted by a roar coming from above. A series of crashes and thumps quickly followed. Steve looked to the window, but he already knew the Beast’s shadow would be gone. The only question was how he’d gotten upstairs.

Sam pulled his dagger out, its sharp edge glinting in the otherwise dim room. He turned to the stairs, braced for any sign of trouble.

“No, it’s fine,” Steve told Sam, when he spared Steve a glance.

He backed down easily, allowing Steve room to pass, but his eyes remained tight with worry and the dagger stayed unsheathed. Steve tore up the stairs and Sam fell in behind him.

The door swung open to a swirl of shredded paper, stirred by the breeze coming from the open window. Further carnage covered the floor beyond and all of a sudden Steve felt unsteady on his feet because In the middle of it all was the Beast with the remains of Steve’s charcoal sketches in his paws and Peggy’s cracked face crushed beneath him.

Steve let out a strangled sob. “What did you do?!”

Eyes alight with rage, the Beast turned to Steve and the painting splintered further under his paws. Steve charged forward before more damage could be done. Fear replaced the Beast’s anger as Steve advanced upon him. The Beast cringed away.

Steve’s eyes burned as he shouted, “Get out of here! Just go!”

The Beast’s fur bristled, standing up along his back as he turned and escaped out the window with scrabbling claws. Steve realized his mistake in time to see the Beast run off into the King’s Wood.

 

 

_ "At noon's repast, she heard a sound _

_ Breathing unseen sweet music round; _

_ But when the evening board was spread _

_ The voice of Beast recall'd her dread: _

_ 'May I observe you sup?' he said; _

_ 'Ah! tremble not; your will is law; _

_ One question answer'd, I withdraw. _

_ Am I not hideous in your eyes?' _

_ 'Your temper's sweet,' she mild replies. _

_ 'Yes, but I'm ugly, have no sense:' _

_ 'That's better far than vain pretense' _

_ 'Try to be happy, and at ease,' _

_ Sigh'd Beast, 'as I will try to please.' _

_ 'Your outward form is scarcely seen _

_ Since I arriv'd, so kind you've been.' " _

\-          Beauty and the Beast by Charles Lamb

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure when I'll be able to get the rest of the chapters up, but hopefully soon!
> 
> [Come say hello on tumblr!](http://ayapandagirl.tumblr.com/)


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